THE LONDON Chaunticleres. A WITTY comedy, Full of Various and delightful MIRTH. Often ACTED with Great Applause And never before Published. LONDON, Printed for Simon Miller, at the Star in St. Pauls Church-yard. 1659. Personae. Heath A Broom-man. Bristle A Brush-man. Ditty A Ballad-man. Budgett A Tinker. Gumb A Tooth-drawer. welcome An Host. Bung A Tapster. Jenneting An Apple-wench. Curds A fresh Cheese and Cream woman. Prologue. THe style that banished Ovid and his Book, And spite of's laurel made him Thunderstrook, Is banished from this Scene by us, and here Cato may come into the theatre. At our Love-tricks none need their eye-lids crush, Chast Vestals may look on without a blushy: Our Cheats do take if they but Time beguile, And all our Plot is but to make you smile. You're welcome then to London, which our show Since you mayn't go to that, has brought to you: Pardon if we offend you with our noise, 'Tis but an echo of their clamorous voice. THE LONDON CHAUNTICLERES. SCEN. I. Enter Heath a Broom-man. BRooms maids, brooms— old boots or shoes, come buy my brooms. You maidens that do cleanse the door, An make a looking-glass oth' floor, That every night prepare the ground, For Oberon to dance a round, And do expect Queen Mab for you, should drop a Tester in a show, And would sleep without pinching, come Quickly to me, and buy a broom, That will effect the thing you mean, 'Tis a new broom, and will sweep clean. Come buy my broom Maids, Maids did I say! Sure there are none ith' City, or if there be any, they have forsworn my custom: All the brooms I have sold to day, would not sweep half the ground I have gone, and the money I have got, will scarce buy Ale enough to moisten my mouth after one cry. Sure all the City are turned dust-men, and the whole Corporation are of the company of Grobians; women sweep their houses with their long coats, and men their shops, with their scrubbed beards; ther's no use of a besom now, but to make rods of, and sweep the children's backsides. 'Tis better killing men for eight pence a day, or hanging of um for thirteen pence halfpenny apiece, than follow this poor and idle life; 'tis easier canting out, A piece of broken bread for a poor man, than singing Brooms maids brooms, come buy my brooms; I should even go hang myself now, if I were worth a halter; but who will spend a groat on't, when he may be hanged at free-cost: I'll go rob the sheriff, and not leave him enough to hire an executioner for me, steal the Judg's Gown, that he may not come to the Assizes, and poison the Jury, that they may not bring me in guilty. Enter Bristle. Bri. Buy a save-all, buy a save-all; never more need, come, buy a save-all; buy a comb-brush, or a pot-brush, buy a flint or a steel or a tinder-box. He. Oh Bristle welcome, I perceive by thy merry note, that ther's music in thy pocket. What, dost jingle? Bri. And I perceive by thy heavy countenance, thy purse is light, Dost want coin? He. Dost thou doubt that? Dost thou not see I'm sober? Do I swear? or kick, for asking if I want money? Bri. These are infallible signs indeed, that thou dost want it. He. I have been up this two hours, and have not visited one Ale-house yet. Bri. Nay, I am fully satisfied, But canst thou want money, whilst thou hast fingers to tell it? He. Why, wouldst have um made of lodestones, to draw all that comes nigh um. Br. Canst thou be poor and have a tongue? nay, then 'tis pity but thou shouldst be sent to the mint thyself, and be stamped into farthings, to be bestowed on beggars: I'd dig to the Antipodes with my nails, but I'd find a Mine: And like the Cripple, run up Pauls steeple, but I'd get the silver Cock. He. He had no legs to break, if he had fallen, nor weight enough to crack his neck. Br. Nor thou wit enough to be hanged, thou hadst rather be starved, than break open a cupboard, and die a good poor man, or an honest beggar, than a rich thief, or a Gentleman Rogue. Thou thinkest it more commendable, I warrant, to be carried in a chair from Constable to Constable, with a Warrant from the Church-wardens, that thou art a poor man, and desirest their Charity, that thou art willing to work, but art almost starved, hast half a dozen children, the eldest, not above three years old, their mother having been dead this eight year, and such pitiful complaints, with as many tears as would drown all the victuals thou eat'st, than ride a mile or two in a Cart, with the Sheriff attending on thee: Thou believ'st that more may be gotten, with a Good your( nonsense) Worship to every Jack, than a Sirrah deliver your purse to the best Lord i'th' Land: And all this grounded upon that precise Axiom; A little with honesty, is better than a great deal with knavery. He. Thanks good Bristle for thy counsel, I mean to be as perfect a pick-pocket, as good as ever nipped the Judges bung while he was condemning him. Look to thy purse Bristle, least I practise on thee first: The fairies can't creep through a lesser Key hole than I. Oh for a dead mans hand now, 'tis as good as Poppy seed, to charm the house asleep; it makes um as senseless as itself: Come shall we turn Knight Errants. Name the first Adventure: Dost thou know no Enchanted Castle? No Golden Ladies in distress, or imprisoned by some old Giant Usurer? Br. Stay a little Heath, I have a design in my head, that will outgo Don Quixot or Palmerin, as far as they did the Giants they overcame; a Trick that shall load us with Money without any fear of th' Cart. He. I'l be thy Squire though I fare no better than Sancha Pancha, and am tossed in a blanket. Br. Come follow me. Exeunt. SCEN. II. Enter Nacy Curdwell Cur. I Have fresh Cheese and Cream, I have fresh Cheese & Cream, Hei ho! But one Suitor yet? Must my sheets lye smooth, till I am wrinkled? Nay then I see Beauty is not a Cable rope, to draw mens hearts after it, nor our mouths a mouse-trap, our tongues a lure, and lips a gin, our hairs are not fishing lines, nor our noses hooks, these Gudgeon's will not swallow the bait that hangs there. Nay we cannot catch these meer-men, though our Smocks were made of Net-work, and we hung all o'er with Looking-Glasses. No no, I see when these Buzzards look after Mates they wink and choose. I think I must have my Nose turned into a Bill, and writ upon it, Here is a house to be let. I am but Six and Twenty years old, and that's young enough to play with a Baby: O how like the Picture of Charity should I look with too Sucklins at my Breast? Enter Budget a Tinker. Bud. Have you any work for a Tinker, Old brass, Old Pots, Old Kettles, I'll mend them all with a Tara-tink, and never hurt your Mettal. Here she is, Me thinks she looks very smug upon me. Now to my Rashion— Most Beautiful, Fair and virtuous mistress, whose Face is a Burning-Glasse, and hath set me on fire, My Sugar-Plumb and Stewd-Pruine Lady, whose fine sharp Nose, like Cupid's Darts, hath pricked me to the heart. Whiter than the Curds thou sell'st, Softer than the Silk thou wearest, Milder than the four-Shilling Beer thou drinkest; Venus I believe was a fresh Cheese and Cream woman, and letting fall her pail, made the Milky way, but yet came as far short of thee, my sweet, hony Nacy, as whey of butter-milk, or skim'd milk of cream. Oh that I were a Worm to crawl on that face of thine, or a Plea. Cur. he'd bite me sure. Bud. To slip about thy neck; Do not, J pray, tread on me with the foot of disdain, least thou crush my heart as flat as a pancake. Cur. Pray leave off your svit, I have no mind to mary, I'll always live a Virgin. Bud. What, and led Apes in hell? What pitty would it be to see you chained to a monkey? Cur. Or tied to you. Bud. Oh do not frown! Each wrinkle is a grave to me, and angry look a Deaths head: Do not despise me 'cause J am black and you so white, the Moon wears beauty spots, and the fairest Ladies black patches: White petticoats are wrought with black silk, and we put black plumbs into white puddings. Cur. But black and white ribbons are worn only at Burials, never at Weddings; and J would be loth my Wedding sheet should be my shrowded, and my bed a grave; therefore pray be gone, and come when J sand for you. Bud. Sweet sugar-candy Mistress, grant me one thing before you go. cured. What is't? Bud. Give me leave to vouchsafe one kiss on those sweet silken parchment lips. cured. Take your farewell, you shall never kiss um again. Kisses her and blacks her mouth. Bud. Thanks pudding-py Nacy. Exit. cured. Faw, how he stinks of smoke; does he think I'll be his Trull? and that he shall smutch my face thus with his char-coal nose? no, I'll see him burnt first: out upon him Beggar, burnt-arse Rogue, Devil, Tinker: J am afraid his ugly looks have soured my Cream, and made all my Cheese run to whey, but if he come to me again thus I'll make him blew as well as black. Enter Hanna Jenniting. Jen. Come buy my Pearmains, curious John apple, dainty Pippins; come who buy's? who buy's? cured. O sister Hanna, J wanted you just now, here was a Tinker had like to have run away with me in his Budget; a Copper-nos'd Rogue, Brasen-fac't Rascal. Jen. But you were even with him, Nay you are a Whisker I Faith. I see beards are infectious, as well as scabbed lips, Salute your apron and 'twill tell you who you kist last. Cur. He has printed a kiss indeed. Jen. Was he a Suitor? Did he woe you with Posnets and Skillets? and promise you a Kettle next bartholomew Fair? and how did you answer him? Did you say Fly brass, The Divel's a Tinker? Or more mildly tell him you could not settle your Affections on him? But come, look sprightly, Some body will stare so long upon the bright Sun of our Beauties, till they are blinded with beams: Thou knowest when my Mother died, she left us beside some stringed pence and a Grannams groat, seven suitors, whereof all have forsaken us, but Graftwell the gardener, and my mother indeed used to say that I was born to be a Gardiners wife as soon as ever J was taken out of her parsly-bed; but 'tis no matter let um go. cured. But J wonder Hanna, that you having been an Apple-woman so long, cannot get a Customer for yourself, you might go off for a Queen-apple: Come along, the next Chapman shall have us at an easy rate. J have fresh Cheese, &c. Jen. Come buy Pippins. Exeunt. SCEN. III. Enter Ditty a Ballad-man. COme new books, new books, newly printed and newly come forth, all sorts of Ballads and pleasant Books, the Famous History of Tom Thumb, and unfortunate Jack, a hundred Godly Lessons, and Alas poor scholar whither wilt thou go: the second part of Mother Shiptons Prophecies, newly made by a Gentleman of good quality, foretelling what was done four hundred years ago, and a pleasant Ballad of a bloody fight seen i'th air, which the Astrologers say portends scarcity of Fowl this year. Sings a Ballad. Enter Budget. Bud. Have you the Ballad of the unfortunate Lover? did. No, but J have George of Green, or Chivy Chase, Collins and the Devil, or Room for Cuckolds, J have any thing but that. Bud. Have you the Coy Maid? did. J sold that just now, But J have the Ballad of the London apprentice, Guy of Warwick, or the Beggar of Bednol Green. Bud. What Love-songs have you? J would have a woeing Ballad. did. J have Twenty of them, Look you her's one, and although J say it myself, as good a one as ever trode upon shoe-leather. budge. What is't? Good Ditty let me hear it. did. The honest Milk-maid, or J must not wrong my Dame. budge. Have you never a one called the honest fresh Cheese and Cream-woman? did. J do not remember that, but here is another, you shall hear me sing it. Once did I love a maiden fair, Down derry, down, down, down, down derry With Silver locks and Golden hair, Down derry, &c.— Her Cheeks were like the Rose so sweet Down derry— Like Marble Pillars were her feet Down derry— How like you this? 'Tis a rare tune, and a very pleasant Song. budge. J like the Song well, but J would have a picture upon it like me. did. Look you here, Her's one as like you, as if it had been spit out of your mouth, your nose, eye, lip, chin, sure they printed it with your face, and the most sweetest Ballad that ever J sung. My Love and I to Medley Upon a time would go The Boat-men they stood ready My Love and I to row, Where we had Cakes and Pruines And many fine things more But now alas she has left me Fa la fa lero lo Bud. This is the Ballad I'l have, Come Ditty thou shalt teach me to sing it, and I'l pay thee at the next good house. Exeunt. SCEN. IIII. Enter Bristle like a shoemaker. Heath like a Butcher. He. SLaughter-calf, do you say my name shall be? Br. I, I, and mine vamp. He. And how do I look now? Like one that was begotten under a Butchers stall I warrant, and born in a slaughter-house, I know there's never a kill-cow it'h City becomes a woollen apron better then I do. Br. Liker a Calf then Butcher; Yet thy sheeps head will be some token thou cam'st from the Butch-row, have a care thou dost not forget thyself, and talk of brooms instead of fly-flops, and old boots and shoes instead of calves skins. He. I am as artificial at the trade as the Master o'th' Company, I could fell Jupiter were he a bull again: I am perfectly changed, I nere knew Heath the broome-man, or the price of a besom, never traffiqu'd with maids o'th' kitchen, or shop-boys for old boots and shoes. Br. Nor I for new, for all I 'm a shoemaker. But to the design; Stand here, this is the road she walks, if thou failest, may thy woollen apron be spun into halters, to hang thee in, and a stall be thy gibbet. Exit. He. If I don't act my part well, may I be a changeling indeed, and be begged for the City fool. If she be coy and by her obstinacy hinder our plot. I'l quarter her out, and sell her for cow-beef, make pettitoes of her fingers and trotters of her feet. Enter Curdwell. cured. I have fresh cheese and cream. He. Harmonious voice! The Witny finger's are but chattering mag-pie's to this melodious Nightingale, and the Taber and Pipe, but as the scraping on a brass pan to this Organ, sure this is the beauty that I must court, If Cupid be not propitious now, I'l cut my brooms into rods and whip the peevish boy: Lady, for so your beauty stiles you, to whom the snow, and swan are black, whither thou art a Goddesse, and come down to punish men, and make them die with love; Or a mortal which excellest all Goddesses, pitty a wounded heart, which can receive no ease from any thing, but those eyes from whom it did receive it's wounds, there's no Nectar or Ambrosia, but what thy pale affords, the Moon would willingly be that the Welshmen wish it, so thou wouldst give it room amongst thy cheeses: Be not unkind sweet Lady, one cruel look will make this place my slaughter-house, and thee the butchers butcher. Cur. I dare not trust you for all your fair words, men of your profession make it a trade to cheat us. He. I'l be as faithful as thou art fair, and stick as close unto thee, as my shirt does to my back, on a sweltry swetting day, come thou shalt yield, and by yielding conquer me. Cur. You set upon weak women with your strong compliments, and overcome them whether they will or no. He moves. He. Move forward, we'l be contracted at the next Ale-house, be married to morrow, and have half a dozen children the next day. Exeunt. SCEN. V. Enter Welcome an Host. SURE I have slept myself into an owl, and mistake night for day, can light down and none see the way to my house, for a mornings draft? No groats due? Did all my mad lads go sober to bed last night? Such a crime forfeits the City charter: What hoe! speak here sirrah Bung. Enter Bung. Bu. By and by who calls? O Master good morrow to you. We. Why it is day with thee too, Bung, and I no owl, speak prithee, how long ist since thou couldst grope the tap out? Bu. O Sir, this two houres, I have cut two dozen of tosts, broached a new barrel of Ale, washed all the cups and flagons, made a fire i'th' George, draind all the beer out of th' half Moon the company left oth floor last night, wiped down all the tables, and have swept every room, the sun has been up this hour almost. We. I there's and honest soker, the old blade swills himself i'th Sea all night, and quaffs from th' earth all day, and that makes him have such a ruby face, but what no customers yet? Bung. Not one Sir, our old chair-woman Mary has not called for her mornings draft yet; She that's the tub for all mens snuffs, and devours me more tappings, then would serve to make strong waters for an Army. We. Sure all the beer that was drunk yesterday had poppy in't instead of malt, and people are not yet awake, or else they mistake my house for a prison, and my old lettuce for grates, come Bung we'l give ourselves handsel, go fill's a lusty pot of Ale. This is a precious varlet and has tricks enough to furnish all the tapsters between-Charing cross, and Fleet bridge, the slight of nicking and frothing he scorns as too common, but supplies that defect with little juggs and great glasses, and where he fears a dissolution, brings up his flagon, begins the Kings health, and with that decoy draws on another dozen or two, till the whole royal progeny is gone over; he wished it once as numerous as old Priam's was, and another time had like to have been hanged for praying treason, that there were a hundred Kings i'th' Land, that men might be forced, to drink all their healths for fear of displeasing any. Enter Bung. Bung. Here Sir, here's a cup of stinging liquour, it is so thick that you may slice it, and came driveling out as if the loving vessel had been loathe to part with 't. We. How? tis could, the rogue has put ice into't instead of tost, or else one of 's hundred leagar wafers the Baker dried for him t'other day in's oven, after his bread was drawn, for the yest of two barrels, you rascal cheat your Master? Bung. Cry you mercy good Sir, I protest I had forgot who t' was for, and popt it in before I was ware, but I'l air it for you instantly, if you please. well. No no I'l warm't myself, and it shall warm me, come here's to all good swallows; So, so, one cup of Ale will shrow'd one better from the could, then all the furs in Russia. Within. Tapster, where are you? shows a room here. Bung. Anon, Anon Sir, you are welcome Gentlemen, Please you walk into th' George, there's a good fire and no company. Exit. We. To see what lucky handsel will procure, no sooner the cup out of my mouth, but another called for, It seems it stayed at me all this while, a dry shabby Host is more absurd, then a dumb Exchange: These are some boon fellow's I know, the rogue is so perfect in his lerry, Ditty and's comrades perhaps, the rascall can never sing well till he has wetted his whistle at my house, he made me set up the sign o'th' flying horse for a Pegasus, Budget the Tinker too is as good at cracking a pot as any, and Bristle the merriest cunningest whoreson, he sels his traps two-pence dearer, onely by giving rules how to bait them; for a Dutch mouse with butter forsooth, or bacon, and then for a welsh one, toasted cheese is the best. Enter Bung. Bung. The Gentlemen within desire your company. We. What are they. Bung. The four Church-Warden's o'th' Parish, that never exceed half-pence a piece at a mornings draft, must have a flagon instead of a black-pot, and fire, tost, and nutmeg over and above, nay sometimes a breakfast too. well. And when they mount so high as a penny, drink at widow Grunts, she that has an eleven children, and say they are prodigal merely out of charity to the poor O●phan pigs, but at th' hall on a Court day, can be as drunk as so many Tinkars at Banbury, or Nurses at a christening, pox on 'em, tell 'em I am busy with other company. Bung. Nay Sir, they protest they'l have your jugg in. well. They shall have me too, then, and for once I'l obey their summon's, but let 'em expect to pay for all they call for, and therefore for me. Exeunt. SCEN. VI. Enter Gumb a Tooth drawer. HAve you any Cornes upon your feet or toes, any Teeth to draw?— Oh for a flood now or a whole year of rain, that every step may be up to the ankles in water, and cover every to with a corn: May the Shoemakers make all their shoes too strait, that they may pinch the sore toed miser, and at every tread put him in mind of work for the corn-cutter: May the toothache be an hereditary disease, and prove infections, or so many Aldermen be turned into Marble, that the whole City may get rotten teeth with eating of sugar plumbs and sweet-meats at their funerals. Enter Ditty. did. The seven wise men of Go●ma, a hundred merry tales, Scoggins jests, or a book of prayers and graces for young children. Gum. What news books Ditty? Any Proclamations that they must forfeit all their toes that have no cornes, or that they must never eat good victuals, that have not the toothache? Are read mufflers and slashed shoes come into fashion? They are as sure signs of the ache of teeth and toes, as a read lettuce of an Alehouse. did. No truly, Master Gumb, I have none of these books, but I have as good, I have very strange news from beyond seas. Gum. What ist? Do they want corn-cutters, or tooth-drawers, prithee lets hear it. did. The King of Morocco has got the black jaundice and the Duke of Westphalia is sick of the swine pox with eating bacon: The Moores increase daily, and the King of Cyprus mourns for the Duke of Saxon that is dead of the ston, and Presbyter John is advanced to zealand, the sea ebbs and flows but twice in four and Twenty hours, and the Moon has changed but once the last month. Gum. Hold, Hold, here's enough to tyre the Doves neck before she gets home. Enter Budget. Bud. Well, I must strike whilst the Iron's hot, good Vulcan be assistant; and grant that some spark of love may be kindled in her heart, and that I may with my compliments as with the bellows of rhetoric blow the coals of good will, and with my forked arguments stir up the fire of affection in her:— I have been filing my nose and anveling down my chin this two daies, and yet just now there was scarce room enough for her sweet lips and mine to meet: She calls me Vulcan, and Cyclops, and says I shall be hanged up for the sign of the black Boy: But tis no matter, It may be when she calls me Vulcan, she would have me make her my Venus. did. Who is this through that he is about to run away with. Bud. Well I'l try both ways. did. How now Budget: Can you sing your Ballad yet, come are you perfect. Bud. Not yet Ditty, but ist to the tune o'th' bleeding heart do you say? did. I, I, But what makes you so pale Budget, there's a cup of Ale at mine host Welcomes, will make your nose of another colour. Bud. O Ditty, there is a nail knocked into my heart, it pricks, it pricks. Gum. Why if you can't wrench it out weel sand for a smith. did. Has Cupid played the joiner with you then, who ist he has fastend to your heart with th t nail, what mettall is she made of, that you cannot hammer her. Bud. It is the City's Beauty. did. The City's Beauty, who's that, one of my Lord Majors spanniels. Gum. I knew a bitch of that name, was a very pretty dog, and would fetch and carry as nimbly as any Porter in the Town. Bud. What villains, do you make a puppy of me, I'l kick you into glove-dogs, you mungrells, hell-hounds, whelps. did. Hold, good Budget, a jest is but a jest, I spoken but in jest. Gum. Nor I indeed Master Budget. Bud. Then I kicked you but in jest. Gum. I, I Sir, we take it so, you must think if it had been in earnest, though it had been the best man I'th' Land, he had kicked his last. Bud. Had he so slave? Gum. Yes, when he had done kicking. did. Good Budget be pacifi'd, and wee'l recompense the injury we have done you, with our forwardness to promote your desires, and translation out of the circled of love into the wedding ring. Bud. Thanks kind Ditty, walk along with me, and I will show thee, the sweet Empresse of my heart, I am appeased Exeunt SCEN. VII. Enter Bristle and Jenniting. Bris. YES truly I am one of th' Gentle-craft, though I have got somewhat of the Taylor's trade too, some hangers on, fellow travellers, that I cannot be rid off, though are still upon my back, they put me to foul shifts sometimes. Jen. Then you know Chrispianus. Bris. Yes, he is a Saint amongst us, of whose votary I am one, that each monday morning liquour his Altar with Ale, and greaze it with bacon. Jen. So you sacrifice the hog to get the bristles. Bris. ( She knows my name sure) but 'tis no matter for him hereafter, I'l know no Saints but thee, be not therefore unkind, but look with a favourable aspect on him that can expect no bad influence from so benign a star. Jen. You do but flatter me, I am not so good a one as you make me. Bris. Now by Jove thou art fairer then Callisto( and more like a bear) more divine then Cassiopeia, do but consider that every Sow has a ring, and will not you have one. Jen. Well Vamp you know how to take the length of womens feet. Bris. Come my Jenniting we will have twins every year. Jen. Such as shall be christened at Saint James-tide I warrant. Bri. No, no, two Boyes and so many Wenches, that we will furnish the whole City with Hearb-women and Coster-mongers of our own progeny, there shall not be an Apple-wife in the whole country, but she shall be engrafted into some branch of our Family, not a day in the whole year shall pass but some three of our stock shall be set, till we have enough to plant a wilderness, and people it. Go pack up thy Treasure, the time flies to fast, but wee'l outstrip it, to night wee'l be at a place some ten miles off, where a house ready furnished waits for thee, with all things necessary for the Celebration of our Nuptials. I'l fit thee with a pair of shoes; Let's see thy foot, It is of the eighteens, Thou shalt have astrapping pair; Make hast. Jen. Thankes Kind Vamp, All that J have is thine. Exit. Bris. J hope so, or else my Plot fails me: If Heath speed with Nacy Curds as well as J have with Hanna Jenniting, we shall make quick work with 'em, we shall fledge ourselves before we fly, Let them husband what we leave um as well as they can. Exit. SCEN. VIII. Enter Heath and Curds. Heath. YES it is a very neat house, 'tis at the sign of the Bull, 'tis newly covered with Calves-skins, and paved with knuckle bones; thou shalt not deny me, wee'l be there to night, and 'tis but three hours journey, let me have thy bundles of necessaries an hour hence, and I'l see 'em safe sent before; thou shalt be the Lady oth Town. cured. J have been one in my daies, when we kept the Whitson-Ale, where we daunc't the building of London-Bridge upon wool-packs and the hay upon a Grasse-plat, and when we were a weary with dancing hard, we always went to the Cushion dance. He. I, wee'l have dancing at out wedding too, when the Cups of Canary have made our heads frisk. O how we shall foot it when we can scarce stand, and caper when we are cut in the leg! The first year shall be a leap year with us. cured. What shall we have at our wedding dinner? Wee'l be sure of a Plumb-pudding, that shall be the very flower of the Feast. He. Then a Leg of Beef shall walk round the Table like a City Captain with a Target of Lamb before it, A Snipe with his long Bill shall be sergeant, and a Capon carry the Drum-sticks: Thou shalt be Lady General, and pick out the choicest of every dish for thy lifeguard. cured. I'l pay them to the full. Heat. Till anon good buy. Exit Heath. Enter budge. Ditty Gumb. did. Pox o' thy ugly face, Ca'st not sing, but thou must cry too? Look there shee is; Good Gumb hold my shop a little. Bud. And mine too. Gumb. Now do I look like one of the Pillars in the Exchange. Exit. budge, Sweet Lady smile on me Now merrily For if thou frown on me Sure I shall die. cured. Hissing Adders Both Sure I shall die, &c.— Croaking Toads. Thy eye like a Cockatrice kills with a look They shine like the Sun I do swear on a book. cured. Away Screetch-owles. Both J swear on a book, &c.— Exit Curds budge. Stay Ditty she is deaf and would not hear though Orpheus played, nor be move'd though the stones and trees danced. Ditty. Give me thy letter then, I'l run after her and deliver it myself. Bud. Prithee do, kind-hearted Ditty. did. O what a nimble Cupid shall J be? Venus her self will mistake me for her Boy. Bud. I'l wait here till thou returnest. Exeunt, SCEN. IX. Enter Bristle and Heath. Bristle. WHat did she melt easily? Was she pliable? He. O like cobblers wax, she stuck to my fingers J could hardly get her off, and had much ado to persuade her not to undo her self quiter, she would have had me gone home and took all, nay would have robbed her Aunt too, but that J should che●t her sufficiently: This will be the best daies work J have done this many a year. Bri. And yet all my rhetoric could scarce persuade you to be wise. He. I am thy scholar, and thou shalt find I'l prove an apt one. If J am not as perfect at the Art, as thyself in a short time, may J never be made free, but always steal for others, and be hanged myself. Bri. Yet still thou owest thy learning unto me, if J had not been thy Master, thou mightst have sat at home now, with a cup of could water, and thy precious Jewel, a contented mind, wishing thou hadst but money enough to pay a forfeit for being drunk, though thy empty pockets forced thee to be sober. He. Come prithee leave, J myself do now laugh at my former ignorance, Thou hast infused a new soul into me, Thou hast played. Hocus-pocus with me J think, and juggled Gusmond or Country Tom's Legerdemain into me; Ther's not such a change in all the Metamorposis. Br. And how hast thou bargaind with thy whey-fac't wench, what hast thou gained by the project, nothing but wit? He. Yes a Silver Bodkin and Thimble, and as many Curds as would serve the Court-Ladies for a twelvemonth Besides the Box laden with all the Plate and household-stuff that her pitchy fingers could stick to in six years service, with which J believe she now waits for me at the appointed place; what we can't turn into Money we will into Ale, and drink it out: Mine Host welcome has a Cup of blessed Lull. Bri. Away, make hast, wee'l empty his cellar to night and draw his Barrels out into our Hogs-heads. He. I'l out-fly the swift. Exit. Bri. But scarce out-go an Owl: This Fellow will J so tutor, that he shall rob Mercury himself, surpass Prometheus, and steal the Sun from Heaven, filch away Venus's Box of Beauty, and pawn it to Ladies, not to be redeemed but by the Golden Apple that Paris gave her, Jupiter's Thunder too, and sell it to besieged towns for Granado's. Enter Jenniting with a Bundle. O here comes my precious Hanna! Never so lovely as now, when shee brings a Bundle along with her. That Beauty-spot makes her look fair, Come my sweating, every minute was an age till thou camest, But why so wrinkled? Those looks do not become a Bride. Jen. Is there no danger of drowning? J am ready to sink every time J think of the water, J cannot choose but quake ever since J was in the Ducking-stool. Bri. Never fear it. Thou shalt be Queen oth Thames, and command the waves, be crowned with water-cress's, and onrob'd in watered Grogerum: The Nymphs shall curl thy hair, and Syrens sing thy Nuptials, the Sea shall drink thy Health, till it spews and purges again, and swell with pride that it can carry thee. Jen. These Lines are strong enough to hold an Anchor. Br. Dolphins shall bring Musicians on their backs, and spout out Cans of Beer beyond the Conduits on the Mayors Day. Jen. Wee'l have a Fish Dinner too, and the Lady oth Lobster shall be mistress oth Feast. Bri. Yes, Yes, and Tritons Trumpet shall echo up each mess, while we sound the bottom of our Ocean Cups, and drown God Neptune in a Sea of wine— But let not your Sister Nacy hear of it for your ears, Shee'l raise a Tempest will shipwreck all our hopes, shee'l storm louder than the winds. Meet me here two hours hence with all your Tacklings, I'l see this Bundle shall be safe, The ruddy sky promises a fair Gale, if the winds fail us, and blow enviously, wee'l blast Aeolus. Exeunt. SCEN. X. Enter Ditty. WELL if ever J carry Love-Letters again, may they make a Love-Letter of me, turn my skin to Paper, my Skull to an overturn, and make a pen of my Nose, it will be excellent for a fast hand, for it runs continually, and is so moist that it will writ without Ink. Nay if ever J thrust myself into wedding businesses again, may, a piece of Match be my Bane, may the Bridegroom wring my ears off, hang me in the Brides Garter, or drown me in the Sack posset, and if he bury me, bestow this threadbare Epitaph. Here lieth Tom Ditty under this ston, That carried Love-Letters, Reader go on, But stay, wouldst thou know the cause of his death Th' long-winded Letter put him out of breath. The next Epistle J carry for Budget, he shall carry himself; I'l not be his Post, to be her Beating-block too, Pox on's Kettle-Drum, 'tis good for nothing but to call the Moon out of an Eclipse, and he'l serve for nought neither, but a Chimney-sweeper's shadow, or Bug-bear to fright froward Children. I'l have some revenge on him, and deliver him up into her hands, if she do not sufficienty punish him, I'l forgive him. Enter Budget. did. Oh here comes the Chimney, the man of foot, the Picture of smoke and Cinders. Bud. Oh Ditty J see by thy face ther's ill News. did. J, Pox on't, J was set upon yonder by a company of women, and had like to have been scoulded into a Cripple, for singing Room for Cuckolds tother day. Bud. But what said my Nacy? Did she smile? and say that all her Denials were Maiden's Nayes? Is she softened, and will she now let me taste her Straw-berry lips willingly? did. Yes, and give you Cream to 'em too, why, she is almost mad for you, and has bespoke a place in Bedlam already, If you do not go quickly and recover her, shee'l either be turned into a Kettle with grief, or melt into Bellmettal that she may be made a Posnet of, Nay and desired me to tell you, that if after her transformation, she chance ever to come under your hands to be mended, she would desire you to use her gently, and that you should know which was she, She had provided in her will, that H L may be set on her Handle for Nacy Curdwel. Bud. J will, J will, I'l mend her with Sugar Nails and a Naples-Bisket Hammer. But is there no way to persuade her to live still a woman? J would be loft to carry my wife at my back, and have one with three legs. did. If you make hast, you may chance to come before she is quiter changed, you may save a leg perhaps or an arm of Flesh yet, but J believe the most part of her is brass already. Bud. Good Ditty go along with me, if she be a pot before J come, J'l weep it full of tears, and then be boiled to death in't. Exeunt. SCEN. XI. Enter Gumb with the Tinkers Budget and Ballad-mans Box. ANy old Pots or Ket●les to mend? Will you buy my Ballads, Or have you any Corns on your feet toes? Nay J am Jack of all Trades now: Three is a perfect number, and so many J have; Nay Master Tinker, you kicked me to day, but since you are so light of your heels, I'l make you walk after your Budget before you have it: 'T shall be in trouble presently, not to be delivered without a Fee. I'l drink as much Ale on the Kettle as will fill it; the rest oth tools shall go for Jugs apiece: And then Master Ditty, J will be merry with your Ballads too, They must lye in Lavender a little, and soak. If they will but yield me draughts apiece, J care not, and the Box shall serve to score on. But stay, Had J not better burn it, to bake the Tosts and warm the Ale? Hang't 'tis but engaging the Books Two-pence or a Groat deeper, and have some three or four Bundles of straws like faggots, and 'twill be all a mode. Enter Bristle and Heath with Bundles. Bri. Shee'l say J am a pretty Jewel to run away with her Cabinet; But 'tis no matter, This Box will make me flourish all the year long. Gumb. So, so, Here are companions that will help drink the Sea dry, mere gulfs or whirl-pools that suck in all that comes nigh ' um. Br. Come Heath open thy Treasury, what's the first Pearl? Gumb. These Ale-suckers too are a going to liquour some prise, that their lime-twig fingers have seized upon. He. A pair of silver-handled Knives, these J believe she made, when she lived with my Lady May'resse; next a pair of white Gloves, these she had at the Funeral of a dear friend, for whose sake she meant to be butted in 'em her self, And how would Cerberus take it, to see one come to Hell with a dog-skin pair of Gloves? A silken Garter, this J warrant it she had at a wedding, and intended to bestow it on her own Bride-maid: Then a pair of Sizzers. Gum. Sure these Villains have robbed an Haberdasher, and stolen a Box of small ware. He. Come out to the Light Than which thou'rt more bright This Box thee no longer shall harbour, 'Tis thou that hast made me oth Triple Trade, A Tailor, a Semster, a Barber. With thee I will shave The Barbarian Slave, And trim up the Youngsters of Poland, Make a jump of Aleppo, Of Friezland a Joppo, And a stately brave Shirt of Holland. Gum. Well sung of a woodcock, come thou must go have thy pipe tuned at mine host welcome's, thou art like the glass pipe that will never whistle but when there's water in't. He. Ho, ho, what furniture for a whole fair upon thy back at once? dressed up just like the wooden boy's on Haberdasher's stalls. Bris. Three strings to thy bow at once, sure thou canst not break, when thou hast such a triple cord to hold thee. Gum. A single one I believe would spoil your drinking, 'twould ty up your guzle. Bris. But how darest thou walk abroad before owlight? Dost think there's no birds stirring still, that will spy out these Feathers? Come off with thy box of Poetry, the Muses warehouse, Calliope's Cabinet, tis ominous to have the string about thy neck: If thou art taken with 'em, thou mayst be condemned to make as many wry mouth's, as the squeaking owner did, when he last strained and vomited 'em out at Smith-feild or py corner. Gum. O there's no fear of that, though he that these call Master had my neck in a slip, these are Ditty's, and these Bugdets, they gave 'em me to hold a little, but I'l carry 'em to the flying horse, and change 'em for a cup of Helicon, which will in half an hour make me able to repay these paltry rhymes in heroic verse. Bris. Come shall we join together, we three are able to sponge up all the Ale i'th City, and raise the price of malt. Gum. A match, as far as these will go I 'm for you. He. And when they're gone, wee'l drink our very shirts out, and then pawn ourselves too. Exeunt. SCEN. XII. Enter Jenniting and Curds. Jen. WAS he a Butcher say you? Cur. I and called me his pretty Lamb, and his sweet-bred, told me he would meet me here two houres ago, and promised me mountaines, but bid me I should not tell you on't. Jen. They are mere rogues, very jugglers, they have cheated us both; Just so did the shoemaker do to me. Cur. He has got my box of milled sixpences, and Harry groats, the guilded sizers that were given me for a new years gift, and my bodkin and thimble. Jen. I would they might both feed upon nothing but rotten apple, and be choked with pears. Cur. Or a piece of clout be left in the next fresh cheese they eat and strangle 'em, or a favourable spider drop into the cream, and drown himself that he may poison them. Enter Ditty and Budget. did. ' Slife loose this opportunity, there she is, on I say and I'l be your second, I warrant she had been dead before this time, but that she smelled your breath hard by, or else knew by sympathy that you were coming. Bud. Did the let●er work so strangely on her are you sure, I would not willingly venture my lips for a kiss or my eyes for a look. did. Why I tell thee she was so nigh a dissolution when I left her, that I thought to have found her in a Sand-box, or begged by some vintner to keep bottled wine in before I could return. Bud. Well I'l try though she squeeze me into verjuice, and stamp my bones into small coal, that they may be twice burnt: O my honeycomb, milk sop Nacy, whiter then the powder of chalk and like it, able to scour off the dirt of sullied drabs, and paint them with a brightness as glustering as thy own. Cur. Out you sooty Goblin, besmeared Dolt, dost think I'l couple with a Negro, to bring forth mag-pies half white, and half black? take me for a Bee to knit at the sound of a brass kettle or frying-pan? Bundle of charckcoale, Furd crock dost think I'l hang in thy pot-hook arms? Hence, or I'l beate thee worse then the Bridwell crew does hemp. did. I, I, red him the same lesson, you con'd me. Bud. Sweet mistress Curds be not so sour, good Ditty stop her mouth. did. Hold, hold, Nacy, he thought all women like pots of Ale, and that Tinkers might call for 'em as freely as the finest customer, this crabtree lecture will teach him better manners hereafter. Jen. I Sister, do not foul your mouth any more with the checker-fac't scullion, let him go. did. Come then and shake hands, wee'l fine him for's sauciness, and his ransom shall be half a dozen at mine Host Welcom's, come, come, you shall be friends and I'l perfect the reconciliation with a song. Bud. Half a dozen! Wee'l score out all the chalk i'th' house and make the tapster fetch one o'th' City clerks to sum up the reckoning. Jen. Come Sister lets go drink sorrow's dry, and a womans anger should be like Jack waits, quickly up and quickly down. Exeunt. SCEN. XIII. Enter welcome. I, I, 'tis the rich face that keeps us from poverty, if the Taylor's countenance were in fashion now, and all that had fiery faces were counted comet's, what a decay would there be amongst our houses of good Fellowship: how our cans would rot and juggs grow musty for want of use? I would the whole City were juggs and cans, that they might never be in good case, but when they're full of good liquour, I fear this will be a bad year for all of our profession, salt meats are grown out of fashion, and Lent will be forgotten this year, and for ought I know, the next Papist that's drunk, may make the people condemn it for superstition, because he uses it, forbid thou, who ever art patron of good fellowship. Enter Bung. Bung. I'l be with you presently, Master can you give me a groat and sixpence for a twopence? well. Who ist for? Bung. For a couple of stranger's i'th' Kings head, they have sat preaching this two houres over two cans, and called me rogue and rascall for not giving attendance, and setting a Chamber pot for 'em, they've twopence to pay. well. Then thoud'st have me give 'em eightpence to be gone, ha! Bung. A groat and twopence for a sixpence I mean. well. There 'tis, go be nimble, we have had but small takings to day, men have got the sqienzy or stoping of the throat I think, thy drink so slowly, may it turn to the dropsy, that they may never be weary of drinking, but that every draft may but make room for two more. 'Twill never be a good world, while there's any but Welch-tavernes, such as sell nothing but Ale and Tobacco, these French and Spanish ones will be the undoing of us all, men are grown such Dotrills that they had rather give five or six shillings to be drunk like the Spaniard with Canary, or the French-man with Claret, then so many pence to be fox't with their own native beer. Enter Bung. Bun. O Master, Master, yonder's Ditty and Budget come in with two doxes, Ditty swears he'l have one of 'em, though she cuckolded him the first night, and ●lap a pair of horns upon his head, that will confine him to his Chamber, till rutting time come, and he shed ' um. well. Who are they which they're in amourd so with? Bung. The ones Nacy Curds, and the other Hanna Jenniting, Ditty and Jenniting are agreed already, now if you'l go promote Budgets suite, and make a conclusion between him and Curds, the wedding will be kept at our house, and we shall besides the getting by the victuals, put off the barrel of sour beer. By and by. Exit. We. Well said Bung, the crafti'st knave alive, I should be glad to see both Budget and Ditty in the way of multiplying, all their progeny cannot choose but be friends to the black pot, and will be notable tipplers I warrant 'em, as soon as they come to the sucking bottle, I'l go myself and contract ' um. Exit. SCEN. XIIII. Enter Bristle, Heath, Gumb. Bris. POX o'th' ugly Baboon, she has got a face like a bartholomew fair baby, and a mouth like the whale that swallowed a whole fleet, her fingers are rolling pins and her arms cowle-staffs, hang her, what should women do with money, or any thing that's good. He. You say true, If we had let 'em alone, I warrant these boxes had been kept till they were moldy, visited but once a quarter, and at last bequeathed by will and Testament to some Silly sober well-wisher of her's in her life time. Bris. One that never drank above foure-shilling beer, but once at a christening, and then had like to have got a read nose by it, cannot distinguish between a jugge and a flagon, never was in an Ale-house, knows not what a bush means, nor ever spent above twopence in his life, and that was upon a prayer-book. Gum. Your tongues me thinks run very glibbe, I wonder they do not screak for want of liquour, what Tapster? attendance here. Bung. Anon, anon Sir, I have it in my hand. Enter Tapster, You're welcome Gentlemen, here's a cup of the best Ale in London. Bris. How Gentlemen? untutor'd slave, saucy Villain, Gentlemen? why sarrah do I look like a Gentleman? I scorn thy terms, and let this kick put thee in mind of better Language. Bung. Cry you mercy, I mistook you indeed. He. Sirrah wee'l make you know who you mistake; call one of your Masters best Customers Gentleman. Bung. Anon Anon Sir, I'l be, with you presently, Exit. Bris. Sirrah bid your Master come in. Gum. Come here's a round to the first inventor of the Famous Art of drinking. Bris. No, no, to the first finder out of the noble Art of brewing, for we should be forced to drink water else. He. To neither, but to the first most commendable Ale-house keeper, that sold three cans for two-pence, he is the chief benefactor we have, come three cans to his health. Gum. Bris. A match. Enter welcome, Ditty, Budget, Jennit. Curds. We. Set you merry, my merry, merry lads, what do the cans dance nimbly? He. Yes, but we want a pipe or too, good mine Host lets have some whiffe. We. Here's a musician, honest Ditty, and Budget too, if they do not make up the consort, they are very much out of tune. did. O Gumb have we found you out, my box you slave. Bud. And my Budget. We. Come set about, set about my boon Companions. Br. A devil on your snout, Oat-meele face, and tallow-chops, how came you hither, with a pox trow. He. Look here Bristle, how like shorn sheep they Look, where shall we run? they have cast me into a fit o'th' shaking palsy. Bris. Come wee'l out face ' um. We. Come sit down my jovial boyes and roar, this night wee'l suck up all the due. Enter Bung with Tobacco. Bun. Here's a pipe o'th' best Tobacco, that christendom affords, it grew under the King of Spaines own window: By and by, what do you want Sirs? Exit. did. And I warrant he used to fling pisse-pots out on't. We. Wee'l drink ourselves into fish, and eat ourselves into cormorants, wee'l not fast though it be an eye to a surfeiting gaudy day. He. ist an eve say you, pray what holiday is too morrow. We. Budgets and Ditty's nuptials, drink freely all is paid already, and you are Ditty's guests to night as well as mine, there sit the brides, you shall not leave my house to night, that I may be sure of you to morrow morning at the solemnities, be merry then and free; I'l pardon you your groats too morrow, and none shall forfeit but he that is not drunk. Exit well. He. Bris. Gum. Joy to the brides, and bride-grooms. did. Gentlemen you may see how quickly a man may be shuffled into a wedding, we liked at first sight, and why should we then defer our joys any longer. Bud. Like the Spanniell, I was beaten into love, but at last have overcome, thanks to mine Host, that took my part. Cur. And I cheated into a bride, he that stolen away my box made up the match between you and me. Bris. ist so I faith? then mistress bride pray take this box, you know it I believe and me too. He. And you this bundle. Jen. The thing I was cheated off, art thou the thief too? O the very villain. Cur. Lay hold of 'em, sweet Budget, the slaves that cheated us in a disguise. did. Come what's the matter! wee'l have no quarreling too night, we forgive all. Gum. Then your books may be freed for eighteen pence, that's all they are engaged for yet, and the budget but for two shillings. did. Bud. We forgive most willing. did. A Porter would not have carried 'em so far for the price. Bris. Here's a health to the Brides then, out of an extinguisher, I'l find 'em in mice-traps, brushes, steel and tinder box, all their life time. He. And I with brooms. Gum. I'l cut their Cornes for nothing, and draw their Teeth for a touch of their lips. did. defer that health till too morrow, In the mean while lets have on to the Genius of good Ale. Omnes Begin't, begin't. did. Submit bunch of Grapes, To the strong barley ear, The weak vine no longer, The laurel shall wear. Bud. Sack and all drinks else, Desist from the strife, Ale's th' onely Aqua vitae, And liquour of life. All: tog. Then come my boon fellow's, Let's drink it a round, It keeps us from th' grave, Though it lays us o'th' ground. Bud. Ales a physician, No mountebank braggar, Can cure the chill ague, Though't be with the stagger. did. Ales a strong w'restler, Flings all it hath met. And makes the ground slippery, Though't be not wet. Omnes But come my boon, &c. did. Ale is both Ceres. And good Neptune too, Ale's froth was the Sea, From whence Venus grew. Bud. Ale is immortal, And be there no stops, In bony Lads quaffing, Can live without hops, Omnes Then come my boon fellows, Lets drink it a round, It keep's us from the grave, Though it lays us o'th' ground. All drink. Enter welcome. We. Well said my whistling birds, tis spring with you all the year long, while the Ale flourishes, come I have provided a supper will tyre your Teeth, tis but a prologue though of too morrow's feast, I hope your appetites need no provocation's, It now waits for you, But will not be ready, till you concoct it. Come then cheer up my buxom girls, the cakes and posset my wife shall provide, and I'l engage myself to be father to you both, Ditty's Ballads and his Budget shall be cut out into favours, and gloves. Exeunt. Epilogue. welcome the Host. GEntlemen and Lady's, I am sent to you, Not to beg cast by sheets, a shirt or two, Or clouts for th' teeming women, nor bespeak Gossips or guests against the christening week, No offering for th' married couple, what then? Onely to bid you welcome Gentlemen, Before your parting: and for th' women beg; That when they travel, you'd not sit crosse-leg; But when their notes are turned to child-birth cries, You'd cry, good speed to their delivery's: And if our cries have wanted mirth, or wit, There's one more left, we cry you mercy yet. FINIS.